


Monsters Real and Imagined

by VanLudwig



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Vampire AU, vampire, vampire bakura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanLudwig/pseuds/VanLudwig
Summary: The man’s eyes weren’t brown, they were red. The dark, rusty red color of blood.





	Monsters Real and Imagined

Ryou awoke gradually and languidly, the luxurious kind of waking up a person does when there’s no alarm set to launch them into their morning. It began in his bones, his limbs becoming restless - comfortably so - and shifting underneath the sheets, his muscles flexing and testing the comfortable stiffness that had settled in during the night. Then, he began to draw in deeper, more purposeful breaths, and when his mind felt good and ready, he opened his eyes. The room was still too dark with the curtain closed for him to see much. Usually, at least some of the morning light managed its way through the thick material over the single window in his bedroom, but today even that ray of light was absent. Ryou stared at the window for a long moment, wondering if he was actually ready to stand up or not. He pulled the comforter away from his body just a bit, testing the air. Since his bedroom was so small, and he’d been sleeping with the heater on all night, the room was decently warm. Extracting himself from the covers wouldn’t be too painful, then. Still, it was a good minute or two before Ryou managed the task. 

He pushed the curtain aside. Outside, the sky looked like used paint water. It was drizzling ever-so-slightly, not enough to be truly considered rain, but just enough to dampen his hair when he’d poke his head out to check the mail later. The sky was filled with clouds that only allowed the barest, most pathetic shadows of sunlight through. 

Ryou smiled quietly at the sight, leaving the curtain drawn as he crossed the room to put on his robe and slippers before heading to the bathroom. He inspected himself in the mirror once there, then splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth. He didn’t have to go into work today, but he still had to leave the house. He had plans with Yuugi, and as much as he loved wearing his pajamas all day, he didn’t think Yuugi would appreciate it quite so much. He worried enough about him as it stood. With good reason, honestly, as Ryou was something of a shut-in, but he’d convinced him to go to brunch today. Ryou always was weak for brunch. 

Ryou brushed his hair in the mirror until it was untangled and fluffy, then poured a few drops of coconut oil into his open palm, rubbed his hands together, and finger-combed the static out of his white strands before twisting it into a long braid that fell over his shoulder. He also patted a little tinted moisturizing lotion onto his face and pinched some color into his skin. He studied the effect in the mirror, smiling at himself as he did so. “I look nice today,” he said out loud, “I’m going to have a good time with my friend.” He found that he felt pretty good after verbalizing it; maybe this would work, after all.

He padded softly down the stairs to his kitchen and started a pot of coffee for himself. While he waited for it to brew, he leaned against the counter and surveyed his space with a semi-critical eye. He knew he’d have to clean again soon. Though it was by no means a large space, the floors got quite dirty in winter, his boots bringing dirt and ice melt into the house on a fairly regular basis. And the dishes would need doing at some point today, as well. Ryou shrugged a little bit to himself. He could always leave that for later, but, though he’d never admit it to anyone, he was a bit of a neat freak. He just felt better in a clean space, although his frequent bouts of lethargy kept him from making it happen more often than not. 

The coffee light went off, and Ryou poured his mug before returning upstairs to his bedroom. He grabbed his phone off of the charger and checked the time, noting that he’d actually slept quite late. He had several texts from Yuugi, asking if they were still on for their brunch in half an hour. Luckily, the place wasn’t too far away. Ryou typed back a quick confirmation and then opened his closet, pulling out a simple pair of dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blue hoodie. Black lace-up sneakers and his rain jacket came next, and then he was out the door. 

It was only a couple of blocks to the cafe, but Ryou forced himself to walk at a slow pace, hands in his pockets. He had the tendency to move from place to place quickly, but he tried to savor this walk, enjoying the feeling of the cool, damp air on his face and the sound of wet asphalt under his shoes. That was something his therapist told him to work on. Enjoying the mundane, taking pleasure in activities instead of doing them with the intent of getting them over with. Ryou supposed he understood the rationale of this. 

When the cafe came into sight, Ryou felt the little bubble of happiness that had been slowly but surely inflating in his chest deflate a little. There were two people standing outside of the door in long, black coats with hoods drawn up over their heads. They were smoking cigarettes and, as Ryou got closer, he could hear they were talking in low, rumbling voices. There was something surrounding the two of them, like an oppressive aura, that made Ryou’s skin crawl. It was probably his anxiety, but that rationalization didn’t make him feel any less disquieted. Ryou gathered up his courage and, with a deep inhale, walked past them at a normal walking pace and let himself into the cafe. He only let out his breath when he caught sight of Yuugi, sitting in a corner booth, sipping at a mug and staring out the window. 

“Ryou!” Yuugi said with a cheerful smile when Ryou got close enough to the table. “Hey!”

“Hi, Yuugi,” he replied with a smile of his own. As he sat down, a waitress gravitated over to him. Ryou stiffened, but forced himself to remain smiling as he ordered hot water and black tea for himself. 

Yuugi gave him an encouraging look. “I call this meeting of the Ryou and Yuugi Brunch Club to order,” he declared, “Would the secretary please read the proposed meeting agenda for the assembly?”

“Uh,” Ryou said, thinking quickly, “The agenda includes, but is not limited to, discussion of Yuugi’s love life, discussion of Ryou’s lack thereof, and speculation over the upcoming KC Tournament.”

Yuugi nodded. “I motion that a thorough analysis of Kujaku Mai’s latest social media posts also be added to the agenda. All in favor say ‘aye”.”

“Aye!” Ryou chirped agreeably.

“The motion passes,” Yuugi announced with another nod, “And I officially call this meeting to order.” He slapped his hand down on the table. “Guess what Atem did last night?”

“I couldn’t possibly.” Ryou shook his head.

Yuugi was about to reply when the waitress came back, delivering Ryou’s tea and hot water. He held his tongue until she was back out of earshot, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, we were snuggled up on the couch, watching a movie like we usually do on Fridays, and he spent the whole time on his phone!”

Ryou gasped in mock offence. “He did not.”

“He did!” Yuugi accused. “And I asked him who he was talking to, and he wouldn’t tell me! It was super bizarre because, you know, we tell each other everything. I dunno, I felt like it would have been unreasonable to ask him to stop, and it’s not like a big deal, I guess, but I was still a little hurt, you know? We’re working a lot now, with the tournament coming up, so we don’t have a lot of free time to spend together.”

“Maybe he was doing stuff for the tournament,” Ryou suggested, sipping at his tea.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryou was watching the two tall figures in the coats through the window. They seemed somehow ominous to him, and it wasn’t necessarily because of the smoking or the skulking around in front of the cafe. Sure, he’d been creeped out about walking by them before, but even now that they were separated by a thick pane of glass, the feeling still hadn’t gone away. The feeling of an aura surrounding the pair, something dark and upsetting, persisted still. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Yuugi agreed, “It just bugged me. Everything else is great with him. I wish it didn’t annoy me so much that he’s a better duelist, though. Like, when we play for fun, I win against him, but I’ve never done it in a tournament, and that makes me feel like, I don’t know, like he’s throwing games for me? To make me feel better? Ryou, are you listening?”

Ryou’s attention snapped back to Yuugi. “Sorry, yeah.”

Yuugi looked out the window, at the two men Ryou had been focusing on. “Oh, yeah, I walked by those guys on my way in, too. They’re still there?”

Ryou shrugged. “It’s kind of weird for them to be standing there like that, right?”

“Super weird,” Yuugi agreed, “But what do you think about Atem? Do you think he’s letting me win on purpose so I don’t get mad at him?”

“Oh, uh, geez, I don’t know, Yuugi,” Ryou stammered, “I guess I don’t know him well enough to say. Isn’t he Kaiba’s rival, though?”

“Yeah, so I feel like no one who spends that much time playing Kaiba would ever throw a game,” Yuugi agreed, “But still, isn’t it weird that I’ve played in, like, a dozen tournaments against him, and I’ve never won one? We’re pretty much evenly matched at home, though.” Yuugi groaned, tugging at his hair. “It bothers me!”

“Ask him,” Ryou said with a shrug.

Yuugi snorted. “He’d never tell me the truth.”

Ryou furrowed his eyebrows. “Why not?”

Yuugi looked at him, lips pursed. “Ryou, if a man is doing something like letting you win at card games to make you feel better about yourself, he isn’t going to admit it to you. That would defeat the whole purpose of doing it in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“Are you two ready to order?”

Ryou looked up at their waitress only to find that it wasn’t their waitress anymore. A man stared down at him with strange, hypnotic eyes a deep shade of red, or were they brown? Red irises weren’t a thing, were they? Ryou was sure he had to have other features like height and hair color, but it was as if he couldn’t hold any other physical details in his mind, none except for those eyes. 

“I’m going to have the bagel sandwich,” Yuugi said. His voice sounded like it had come through a bad telephone connection, tinnish and far away.

Ryou’s mouth was dry. The man’s eyes weren’t brown, they were red. The dark, rusty red color of blood. 

“And you?” The man’s voice, in contrast to Yuugi’s, sounded like it was coming from inside Ryou’s own head, the timbre of it reverberating through his chest cavity. “What can I interest you in?”

Dark red eyes stared into his, and Ryou was keenly aware of the sensation of falling, the weightlessness and the dizziness. The churning feeling in his stomach and the lightheadedness. His hands began to ache, and he didn’t know why. He felt a stinging behind his eyes, like he was going to cry. 

“Ryou, are you okay?”

Yuugi’s voice drew him out of it, snapping him back to reality. He looked at his friend with wide, panicked eyes. “What?”

“Ryou, are you feeling well?”

His hands continued to ache. He was gripping the table with them so hard his knuckles were white. Ryou turned his head up, fearful of seeing those eyes again, but they were no longer there. Instead, their old waitress was looking down at him in complete confusion. “What? What? Oh, no, I’m fine, I think. Uh, I’ll have the same?”

Ryou glanced sharply out the window. The men in the coats were gone. 

He turned back to look at Yuugi, who was still staring at him. “You good?” he asked, “You kinda, I don’t know, freaked out a little there.”

“Ah, yeah,” Ryou said awkwardly, his mind furiously trying to think of an excuse that wouldn’t make him sound crazy, “I’m fine. You know how it is sometimes. With people? And decisions?”

Yuugi cocked his head a little bit. “I guess?”

“What’s, uh, what’s next on the agenda?” Ryou tried, “We talked about your love life. Anything else you want to add?”

Yuugi shook his head, flicking open his cell phone with one hand. “I mean. Atem texted me this morning, but it was about Duel Monsters. Honestly, like, don’t get me wrong here, but…,” 

Ryou listened to the easy cadence of his friend’s voice superficially while his brain worked to try to figure out what had happened to him. Had it been some kind of panic attack? But he hadn’t had one of those since he started going to therapy. Well, maybe one or two here or there since, but none of them to the extent that he disassociated. Had it been because of those men outside? Ryou could have sworn it had been one of them taking his order, but they were gone now. And hadn’t it been their waitress the whole time? It didn’t make any sense to him, didn’t follow any kind of logical explanation.

Those eyes, that malevolent presence… could it have been somehow supernatural?

He and Yuugi wrapped things up after a while and, after parting ways with his friend, Ryou began the trek back to his house. The rain had begun to fall in earnest while they’d been having brunch, so Ryou had to put his hood up against the droplets. It was a little bit past noon, which left the entire rest of the day for him to play video games and read books. He began to walk a little bit more quickly, figuring his therapist would excuse his rushing this time because of the rain. 

Then, he felt it again. The presence. That eerie feeling from before, like a fog of discomfort settling in his mind. Ryou threw his gaze over his shoulder. The man from before wasn’t there, but he still felt like he was being followed, like someone was watching him. His skin began to itch at the feeling, and he picked up his pace again, determined to make it to the safety of his house. Still, the feeling persisted, seeming to grow more intense with every step he took. The fog began closing in on him, he could feel it, like it was breathing down his neck. By the time Ryou’s house was in his sight, he was running, feet pounding against the sidewalk in his dash for the door. He rammed his key into the lock and threw the door open, but when he went to shut the door, his key wouldn’t come out, remaining stuck in the lock. Ryou jerked at the key, throwing panicked gazes out into the downpour. Eventually the key came free. Ryou slammed the door and turned the deadbolt, resting his forehead against the door with an exhale. 

He nearly leaped out of his skin when, all of a sudden, there was a knock at the door, right where his head had been. Ryou stared hard at the door, holding his breath as waited, thinking maybe it had been a trick of his imagination. Then, the knock came again, and Ryou bit back a scream, holding his hands to his mouth. He backed away from the door, clutching his arms to his chest, as more knocks fell against the door. What was he going to do? Had the man followed him home? Was he even a man? Those bloody red eyes burned in his memory.

As quietly as he could, Ryou tiptoed away from the door and creeped up his stairs, thankful that his first floor window was up too high for people on the street to see into. All of the row houses on his block were built that way, with three or four steps leading up to the front door to accommodate for the basement. He’d never been more grateful for the ancient architecture of his tiny home before. He kept hearing knocks, growing few and far between but still present, so he locked himself in his bathroom and opened a music app on his phone before stripping and jumping in the shower. 

The warm water soothed him and helped clear his head while the music filled the silence and calmed him down somewhat. After a few minutes, he heard the last of the knocking. When he finished his shower, he was almost ready to believe it had really been his imagination, after all. Still, though, he had no explanation for that dreadful presence that had pressed into his mind. 

Even though it was scarcely past one in the afternoon, Ryou poured himself a healthy glass of wine and settled down in his living room in front of his computer screen (after closing the curtains, of course), booting up an MMORPG to help take his mind off of things. He opened his social media and saw Yuugi had made several posts about their brunch, including a very artistic photo of his bagel sandwich. Ryou smiled, sharing the post to his own webpage. Yuugi really was a great friend, if a bit extroverted. Still, that was healthy for Ryou, who wouldn’t ever leave the house unless poked and prodded by a well-meaning friend. 

Yuugi’s relationship with Atem made Ryou jealous, though, just a little bit. They were so evenly matched, so clearly made for one another. They were both pro-duelists, nationally ranked, they both worked for Kaiba Corp., and they had similar tastes in a lot of things. Atem was more competitive than Yuugi, more intense and headstrong, but Yuugi was friendlier and had an easier time getting people to like him. They made a great team, socially and in-game. They were balanced. Ryou wanted so badly to find someone to compliment him. He definitely had a type, usually going for dark, brooding guys who also played too many video games and liked staying inside, but he didn’t want to be limited to that forever. Guys like that generally weren’t very reliable emotionally. Ryou wanted something like Yuugi had, someone who made him a better person. Someone who cared about him enough to change him. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Ryou froze, hands stilled over the keyboard. He waited.

Knock, knock. 

Don’t answer the door for a stranger, Ryou told himself. Yet, he couldn’t help but creep to the window and move the curtain aside just an inch, just enough to see.

Knock, knock. 

Standing on his stoop was a tall figure in a dark coat with the hood drawn up. One of the men from earlier, then. He was standing ramrod straight, staring straight ahead at the door with a singular focus. Ryou thought he could see a few locks of silvery hair poking out from the hood, but he couldn’t be sure because of the heavy rain. In spite of the rain, though, the man seemed in no rush. He waited a few seconds, then raised his fist again to knock. 

Ryou let the curtain fall back into place, staring at the door with unease. What did this person, this figure want with him? There was only one way to find out, he supposed. And he could no longer feel the malevolent aura, even though the potential culprit was just outside. Perhaps it had all been a misunderstanding. 

Ryou’s fingers closed around his doorknob and, with a steadying, anticipatory breath, turned it. 

The man smiled the same smirking smile from before, for it was the man who’d been present in Ryou’s earlier attack. “Ryou, I presume?”

Ryou looked into the stranger’s eyes. It was too dark to tell what color they were. “Yes, I’m Ryou. Who are you?”

The man held something up: Ryou’s cell phone. “A concerned citizen. You left this behind earlier.”

“Oh.” Ryou let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. His phone. Okay, of course. That’s why this stranger had followed him home earlier. Nothing weird, nothing scary. Just returning his phone.

“Can I come in?” the stranger asked, glancing up at the sky as if for emphasis. 

“Oh! Uh, sure,” Ryou said quickly, stepping aside.

The man grinned, but it didn’t look quite right on his face. There was something off about him, but no, Ryou admonished himself to stop being so paranoid. There was no ominous presence, no monster out to get him, just a man returning his phone to him. 

“Do you want any coffee or tea? I’m sorry you were out there waiting so long,” Ryou tried, feeling embarrassed and not just a little bit awkward. 

The man flipped down his hood to reveal a head of silver-white hair, sort of similar to Ryou’s own ashy blond locks. Ryou had used a lot of bleach and toners to lift his hair to this level of blond. He was impressed at how his guest had been able to get his so silver, like moonlight. “Nothing like that, thanks. Here’s your phone,” he said, handing the device to Ryou. When Ryou took it, the man brushed his fingertips against the underside of Ryou’s wrist gently, causing Ryou to shiver lightly at the sort- of ticklish sensation. A very pleasant feeling creeped slowly, like a trickle of fluid, through Ryou’s body then, pumped lazily through his veins. A weighted warmth flooded his limbs, his whole body pulsing in time with his heartbeat. It felt good, better than good, ten times better than the shower had made him feel, and he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips. “Are you usually so clumsy with your belongings?” the man asked, his voice just as smooth as the gentle caress of his wrist had been. 

“Not usually, no,” he murmured. His body felt somehow heavy and light at the same time. Without really meaning to, he felt himself moving closer to the stranger, who had removed his coat and was staring down at Ryou with his arms crossed in a powerful stance. He looked authoritative, commanding in a way that twisted Ryou’s insides, began the drumming of desire deep within him. “Thanks for, uh, for bringing my phone.” What was wrong with him?

“No, thank you,” the man replied. He brought his arms up as Ryou closed the distance between them, settling into the man’s embrace just as lips descended onto his own. Ryou felt the man press his tongue to his lips in a gentle command, and he opened himself obediently, the heady sensation of the pulsing slowing his body down. If it weren’t for the man holding him up, he would have surely hit the floor. He was utterly out of control of his reactions, of the situation, entirely at the mercy of the man in a way that only made him want it more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d reacted to someone so powerfully before. The heaviness, the heady warmth dragging on his limbs, it felt like waking up under a mountain of blankets after being asleep for years. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to move, though. He couldn’t move. The realization was only a prickling of discomfort underneath the torrent of pleasure. He wasn’t bothered the way he, by all rights, should’ve been. All Ryou felt was a blur of contented, peaceful emotions. And the lust, lust for this man, pulsing through his veins like the wailing of a siren. He felt himself growing hard and harder still with every point of contact, at the man’s tongue in his mouth, the feeling of the fabric of his shirt rubbing against the bare skin of Ryou’s arms.

He felt his body dip down as the man laid him out on the couch and settled his weight over him. Ryou wriggled in pleasure as thin, dexterous fingers played with the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders. When had his shirt come off? Lips were on his skin now, pressing small kisses to every inch of his neck and shoulders. Those nimble fingers began to dance their way down his chest and under his waistband. Chaste kisses turned to hot, wet, open-mouthed sucking, and Ryou moaned loud and long, arcing up into the man’s touch. God, it felt good. The hand on him was stroking a viciously slow pace, making him whimper and squirm. The scrape of teeth on his neck, the dull thrum of pleasure and liquid heat in his veins, it felt like every inch of him was being touched at once, his entire body a single erogenous zone, made for being pleasured. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He wanted a release, something, anything to satisfy this desire, this need to be taken, to be consumed. The pressure mounted dizzyingly within him, and just as he was about to beg for release, blinding pain struck him down into a cold, cruel unconsciousness.

The next thing Ryou was aware of was waking up. His body felt cold and sore, his skin was clammy with sweat, and upon opening his eyes, he realized it was dark and the door was standing wide open. The shock jolted his body into reluctant movement as he leaped up to shut it, distantly hoping nothing had gotten in while he had been asleep. 

Why had he been asleep? The last thing he remembered was coming home after lunch with Yuugi. What time was it? Ryou staggered into his kitchen, feeling a bit light-headed and stiff, and checked the clock on the stove. It was almost midnight! How had he slept through the whole day? Had he slept through the whole day? No, he came back from lunch, and then he played video games for a while. So, he was playing games, and then he went to the couch for a ten hour nap? 

Ryou felt a creeping sense of despair that began as disquiet and was on its way to full-blown panic. It was something in the air, like the lingering scent of a visitor. Something wasn’t adding up, but he didn’t have the missing piece. He walked to the window and looked out into the dark night. The street was empty at this hour, all lights off except for the street lamps. He’d gone to the cafe, and there’d been something strange that happened there, right? 

The men standing outside! Ryou remembered it, then, the strange feeling of dread. It had followed him home. He’d hurried home, feeling chased by something, and locked himself inside. Then... 

What? 

Then what?

Ryou whined in frustration. He couldn’t remember anything after coming home. He knew he’d been playing games from the timestamps on his computer, but there was something about the feeling of dread that he just couldn’t remember. He stomped up the stairs, feeling like a shower would help him clear his mind and organize his thoughts. He began to undress but froze when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Horrified, he stepped closer. 

His skin was positively sallow, his normal paleness turned ugly by the yellow tinge of sickness. The dark circles underneath his eyes were so purple, he looked like he’d been hit. He looked awful. What had happened? Distantly, as if he was watching himself move rather than actively participating in his motions, he fumbled at the sink to turn on the taps and splashed his face with warm water. Clumsy fingers grabbed at his hairbrush, and he began to comb at the disheveled mess - though that could be dismissed as simple bed head, his deathly sick skin tone could not, and neither could the marks on his neck, exposed by the brushing back of his hair. Dark, circular welts, the color of bruised fruit, dotted his neck, shoulders, and chest. There was something distinctly diseased about them, and Ryou stared in cold, horrified fascination at the twin puncture wounds at the fleshy juncture between his neck muscles and the fine bones of his collar. 

Ryou ran a bath for himself, blistering hot water that was painful to touch. He submerged himself in it gradually, acclimating his skin rather harshly to the sudden change in temperature. His fingers rubbed at his neck, at the puncture wounds and the slightly gritty texture of his skin. As he rubbed harder, the grittiness began flaking off, like something had been wet and dried there, cloying to the fine hairs of his skin. As he fully submerged himself, the scent of his lavender bath gel surrounding him like a cocoon, he let his mind go blank for a moment and simply floated, enjoying the pleasurable sensation of the water.

Pleasurable sensation, that was it, though! Ryou remembered it now, like he’d experienced it in a dream and was only remembering in the moments after he’d already woken up. He’d been incredibly aroused this afternoon, before he’d passed out. That was unusual for him. Unless he had a partner, he generally didn’t pay attention to things like autoeroticism and sexual satisfaction, but it had happened, hadn’t it? Someone had been here. Someone had pleasured him, marked him with bruises and welts, and now they were gone. Ryou’s shaking hands found the wounds in his neck again, rubbing it with a feeling of nervous apprehension as he realized the explanation that shouldn’t have been possible. 

Ryou didn’t sleep well that night, but as the days passed, things became more bearable, more normal. Coworkers complimented his sudden interest in silk scarves. His therapist applauded his efforts to venture out into society. Ryou even gathered the courage to submit himself as an entry for the upcoming KC tournament, to Yuugi and Atem’s delight. The world continued to spin in spite of that dreary afternoon that Ryou still couldn’t entirely explain, and Ryou hesitantly continued to spin with it, all the while looking over his shoulder for blood red eyes. 

It was a few days until the upcoming tournament, the evening after a stressful day at work and before a blessed day off, and Ryou was chopping up vegetables in the kitchen when he heard a knock at the door. 

Knock knock. 

His hands stilled, blade hovering over a leek. His eyes unfocused as he stared at the wall, blood pounding loudly in his ears. Could it be-?

Knock knock.

Ryou set the knife down then picked it back up. He had to be smart. If this was a false alarm, more’s the better, but if it wasn’t, he had to be prepared. Somehow. He didn’t quite know what he had to be prepared for, but he was on guard, which was better than nothing. 

Knock. Knock.

Ryou, knife in hand, walked over to the door. He unbolted the deadbolt and turned the knob. 

Blood-red eyes, hair like moonlight. “Hello again, Ryou.” 

“Hello,” Ryou replied, forcing himself to appear calm. He cocked his hip against the doorframe.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not introducing myself last time,” the man apologized. His smirk was razor sharp. “May I come in?”

Ryou began to twirl the handle of the knife in his grip, flipping the blade over and over in an idle motion. “Awfully polite of you to ask.”

“That’s not a yes,” the stranger pointed out.

“You need an explicit yes?” Ryou pressed.

The man’s smirk spread into a grin. “My, how interesting. You didn’t seem so confident last time, little Ryou.”

“Yes, well,” Ryou said slowly to buy a little time to think of a reply, “Things are a bit different now, aren’t they?”

“Aren’t they?” the man parroted.

Instantly, Ryou was hit with a wave of panic. Terror, doubt, fear, despair, a hurricane of negative emotions flooded him in a rush of feeling. He inhaled sharply, staring into those menacing eyes first with desperation but then as a kind of anchor. Ryou’s second intake of breath was long and measured as he fought to overcome - or at least ignore - the chill gripping his heart. “Yes, I know that trick already.”

Just as quickly as it had started, the feelings vanished. The once-terrifying man was now simply a curious one. He looked at Ryou the way he might have looked at an interesting book title.

“I’ll thank you not to do that again,” Ryou said sharply. 

“What about this one?” he asked, canting his hips forward with a sly grin.

As soon as Ryou felt the rush of heat, he struck a hand out towards the man. “Stop!” Surprisingly, his command was obeyed. The feelings retracted, leaving Ryou feeling distinctly colder than before. “Listen to me, whatever you are! I don’t know what you want with me, but you can’t go about getting it like that.”

A cocked head and raised eyebrows, but they weren’t mocking. “And how can I go about getting what I want out of you, then?”

Ryou hadn’t expected to be asked. He considered slamming the door right there, knew he should do it, too, but his curiosity was winning out over his sense of self-preservation. A character flaw, surely, but not a new one. He stuck out his hand, the one not holding the knife. “Introduce yourself. You know my name, after all.”

The man, looking quite knocked off balance, gripped Ryou’s hand in his. “Bakura.”

“Alright, Bakura,” Ryou said gracefully, straightening up in the doorway, “I’m making dinner. Would you like to come in and have some?”

Bakura’s expression was one of complete and pure surprise. It was a few seconds that he simply stood there, regarding Ryou plainly, before he said, “Well, yes, I will. Thanks.”

Ryou turned and walked back to the kitchen, listening for the sounds that he was being followed. The man, Bakura, closed the door audibly, and the rustling of his jacket being removed came next. Not being able to see him yet being keenly aware of his capabilities left Ryou feeling sort of breathless with a macabre anticipation, but an anticipation of what he wasn’t quite sure. When Ryou turned back around, Bakura was standing in the doorway to the kitchen dressed all in black, his shirtsleeves cuffed to his elbows, one leg crossed casually over the other at the calf, shoulder leaned against the wall. 

Ryou felt his mouth go a bit dry. “Do you take tea?” he asked.

Bakura regarded him calmly. “I can.” 

Ryou put the kettle on, fairly bursting with the questions bouncing around in his skull. He forced himself to remain calm, to return to cutting vegetables, but his skin was crawling under Bakura’s gaze. “So, you aren’t human,” was what he settled for.

Bakura cocked his head, knocking it against the wood lightly. “Not exactly, no.”

Ryou fought the urge to touch the twin scabs on his neck, which were still healing under a bandage. “You drank my blood?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Huh.” Bakura furrowed his brows. “No one’s ever asked that before.”

“Has anyone lived through it before?”

Bakura’s silence was unsettling. He broke it after a moment. “Some.” Then, he shrugged. “I was hungry, you were there.”

“I wasn’t,” Ryou pointed out, “I ran away.”

Bakura simply smiled, watching him.

Ryou moved to add his vegetables to a pot of bubbling broth on the stove, scooping them in and stirring. Doing these motions added a normalcy that wasn't otherwise present in the situation. This was an actual vampire he was talking to! A vampire, a goddamn monster, standing in his kitchen, watching him cook dinner. He should’ve felt afraid, but he didn’t. Instead, he felt that anticipation bubbling up within him, roiling to spill over into something more. 

The kettle boiled. Ryou poured two mugs and added a tea bag to each. “It’s ready,” he said a bit unnecessarily, handing the mug to Bakura. 

Bakura looked at it, then looked at Ryou, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Thank you.” He accepted the mug, allowing his fingers to brush against Ryou’s. 

Ryou felt a spark like electricity shoot through his nerves at the touch. He suspected it had to do with Bakura’s odd powers, though he couldn’t be certain. “Why did you come back?”

Bakura seemed to consider the question before answering with his own. “Are you afraid of me?”

“A little,” Ryou admitted, turning back to his stew pot, “Are you going to hurt me again?”

“Probably. That’s what I came to do.”

“Can I convince you not to?”

Laughter forced its way from Bakura’s throat, seemingly unbidden. “I don’t know if I’ve met a human like you before. It’s refreshing, fun.”

“That’s a good reason not to hurt me, isn’t it?”

Bakura’s lips curved from smile to smirk. “It makes me want to hurt you even more, my Ryou.”

Ryou picked his knife up off the counter, pointing it towards Bakura. “I’ll have to hurt you back, then.”

Bakura’s brows lifted in surprise, though it seemed more to delight than deter. He stepped closer to Ryou, hands in the pockets of his pants. His entire body seemed to curve around Ryou as he did so, encompassing him but just a half a centimeter away from touching. “I would like it if you tried.”

Lips descended onto his own, and Ryou couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips, parting them unintentionally for Bakura’s persistent tongue. Their teeth clacked together with the force of Bakura’s hunger, sloppy and biting against the soft flesh of Ryou’s bottom lip. The taste of copper mingled in Ryou’s mouth, accompanied by the sharp pain caused by the breaking, the piercing of his own skin. Then, Bakura growled, a carnal, animalistic noise that at once spiked both desire and fear through Ryou like a bolt of lightning. He brought his knife up and pressed the spine of it to Bakura’s sternum, applying a threatening pressure. Ryou cut the kiss off, pushing hard enough to allow himself a step back. He looked up into the other’s eyes, breathless at the fury and the lust mixing beneath the surface of a carefully controlled passivity. Ryou twisted his wrist so that it now faced Bakura, tip first. “Careful,” he warned.

Bakura snarled. “Took the words right out of my mouth, darling.”

He grabbed Ryou’s free wrist and tugged him into the living room, hurling him gracelessly onto the couch. Ryou squeaked in protest but was silenced as Bakura stalked towards him, stripping his shirt off over his head as he did. Ripples of muscles flexed visibly beneath pale skin, and Ryou went limp, knife clattering to the floor. Bakura knelt down in front of him, spreading his knees effortlessly and fastening his mouth to the exposed skin just above the waistline of his pants. Ryou jolted as if he’d been electrified, but Bakura’s grip on his knees kept him perfectly in place for the lips that were ghosting agonizingly downward over the growing bulge in his jeans. Those hands then began to travel up his thighs to snap open the button of his pants, blazing a hot trail of anticipation along his skin through the fabric. Ryou squirmed, reaching out to tangle his hands in Bakura’s hair and pulled, hard. Bakura rewarded him by growling again, a vocal snarl that shot straight through him, the vibrations electrifying his skin. 

“Please,” Ryou panted, breathless, “Please.” He was afraid, terrified of the things he was feeling. A vampire had stalked him to his house, had threatened his life, was kneeling between his legs. He might die, but oh God, he wanted those lips on him so badly, he thought it might just be worth it to go like this.

Bakura freed him from his jeans with skilled hands, descending upon him without further preamble. Ryou nearly screamed as his length breached Bakura’s lips, feeling every goddamn inch of his cock slide into the monster’s hot mouth. God, Bakura was sucking, the pressure engulfing his length in delicious, wet heat. Bakura’s teeth grazed him, igniting Ryou’s adrenaline as his fear response kicked back in, temporarily cresting over his pleasure as the pain from what had felt like a goddamn bite coursed through his body. A vampire, a fucking vampire was fucking him. He was mid-vocalization of his protest, but it morphed into an utterly indulgent moan of ecstasy as Bakura slid down even further, Ryou’s head pressing all the way to the back of his throat. Lips dragged on his cock as Bakura drew himself back up, creating a suction that threatened to send Ryou straight out of his skull. He repeated the motion with a slowness so agonizing, Ryou was almost wishing he would die, fucking kill him or let him cum, anything to make that sweet, sinful torture end. 

Bakura popped off with a wet sound, looking up into Ryou’s eyes with hazy, animalistic want. “Every inch of you tastes delicious,” he intoned, voice like a hypnotic chant.

Ryou felt like he’d lost his mind. He had to have, to allow this. The room, the world, himself, everything beyond Bakura and his mouth had ceased to exist for him. The pleasure but also the fear, omnipresent and only serving to feed his lust. “Don’t hurt me, please,” he whispered, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, “Make it good instead.”

Red eyes, the color of freshly spilled blood, of hard garnet, and of ripe red pomegranate, looked up at him with carnal, predatory desire. “I will.”

Sharp fangs bit down into the soft flesh just above Ryou’s hip, and his yells turned to agonized moans as Bakura’s hand began viciously pumping his cock, drawing out cries of both pain and pleasure. God, this was it, this was fucking it. Ryou felt like his soul was leaving his body, like he was being drained of the very thing that made him human. He moaned and writhed and clutched at Bakura’s hair and shoulders, anywhere he could find purchase. Still, Bakura’s hand moved against him, fast and unrelenting. He felt himself growing weaker, his body straining with the force of remaining conscious long enough to cum. Tension mounted in Ryou’s core with dizzying speed, his every muscle coiled and poised for release. The room grew dark, and still Bakura drank him in. Then, everything exploded, a shockwave that blew out from the entry point of fangs in his side. A scream tore itself from Ryou’s throat as he came, harder than he’d ever done before in his goddamn life. The loss of blood, coupled with the force of his orgasm, blurred his sight as brilliant, white lights exploded in his field of vision. The world shifted, everything felt heavier, more cloying. It was hot, too hot, his skin was burning, and at once it was freezing cold, he was dying. Hands were on him, but he could barely distinguish one feeling from the other. Then, everything was dark. 

When Ryou awoke, it was to a hot bowl of vegetable soup sitting on the coffee table, waiting for him, and the silent, rigid figure of Bakura standing by his bookcase, flipping through the pages of an old college textbook. He looked up at the sound of Ryou’s rustlings, and when their eyes locked, Bakura didn’t smirk. He smiled.


End file.
